


incite and provoke

by vintagelilacs



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Divergent, Confessions, Jealous Thorin Oakenshield, Jealousy, M/M, bilbo has sensitive ears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-25
Updated: 2018-04-25
Packaged: 2019-04-26 15:10:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14404746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vintagelilacs/pseuds/vintagelilacs
Summary: Thranduil is an opportunist, and if flirting with the halfling is going to upset the Dwarven king, he'll take great delight in doing so.





	incite and provoke

Thranduil assesses the disheveled (and _odiferous_ ) company of dwarves before him. Their beards are matted and tarred with dried blood, and dirt seems to have sunken into the hollows of their hard and inelegant faces. He drags his eyes in a leisurely arc before settling on prince Thorin. Or is it _king_ now? He can see the hard rise and fall of the dwarf's chest even from his throne. It's not exertion that quickens Thorin's breath, but anger. 

"What were you doing in the forest?" Thranduil interrogates. Of course he already knows, but his toneless, flippant voice serves to upset the dwarf king even more. The company before him exchanges silent, uncertain glances, electing to wait for their leader to speak.

Thorin's gaze is unflinching, anger and contempt sparking in their blue depths. "Looking for food and drink because we were starving." 

"Surely there's food and drink in the Blue Mountains?" Thranduil asks with faux innocence. 

"As you can see, we're not near Ered Luin." 

"No, you are not. I must confess, I was unaware that dwarves are a nomadic race." 

Thorin tilts his chin. Even bedraggled and chained he maintains his proud countenance. "Perhaps you would know more about us dwarves had you not turned us away when we were in need." 

Tauriel bristles at Thranduil's side. "If the dwarf is having trouble holding his tongue, I'd be honored to remove it for him," she stage-whispers. 

Thranduil holds up a hand, staying the captain of his guard. He returns his attention to the brazen dwarf glaring up at him. He adopts a smirk, his lips sharper than a blade's edge. "Enough prevaricating. I already know of your fruitless quest." 

"Then why did you bother to ask?" Thorin rejoinders. 

“I'm sure some may imagine that a noble quest is at hand," he continues, unfazed by the dwarf's insolence. "A quest to reclaim a homeland and slay a dragon. I myself suspect a more prosaic motive: attempted burglary, or something of that ilk.” He tilts his head. “You have found a way in. You seek that which would bestow upon you the right to rule: the King’s Jewel, the Arkenstone. It is precious to you beyond measure. I understand that. There are gems in the mountain that I too desire. White gems of pure starlight. I offer you my help.”

Thorin speaks through gritted teeth. “I am listening.”

“I will let you go, if you but return what is mine. You'd have my word. One king to another.”

The dwarf's face flushes a seething red. His voice rises precipitously. “I would not trust Thranduil, the great king, to honor his word should the end of all days be upon us!”

Thranduil's visage is one of practiced calm, and does not so much as flinch at the disrespect. His guards, on the other hand, are less comfortable overlooking such a blatant offense. They fidget at his side, but dare not act without a direct order. He hears a sharp intake of breath from Tauriel, but she knows better than to speak out of turn. 

"I don't believe you're in the position to be declining help when it is offered," Thranduil says silkily. "Not if your only allies are this dismal band of dwarves." His eyes roam once more over the pitiful company, but this time, he catches something he earlier neglected. Near the back of the group is a... well, he's not entirely sure what it is. It's certainly a peculiar creature. Shorter than its dwarven companions, the creature is covered in grime, and while its clothes are of a notable quality, they're torn and sullied with the toil of travel. Then there's the matter of its feet. They're bare and unusually large, and the tops are dusted in swathes of hair.

The other dwarves shift with unease, but they're not the subject of his staring. Thranduil leans forward in his seat. Why would such a creature consort with dwarves? Why pledge its loyalty and services to a lowly dwarf lord without even a kingdom to rule? And the... _halfling_ isn't especially impressive. Short stature and soft around the middle, though his features are decidedly dainty. Not as delicate as an elf, of course, but he'll bestow praise where it is due. 

His observations are interrupted when Thorin steps directly into his train of sight, impeding his view of the halfling. If the dwarf was angry before, he's positively livid now. His shackled hands curl into fists, the colour bleaching from them and the knuckles standing out in stark relief. 

Oh, how _interesting._ He’s like a child unwilling to share, Thranduil muses. It seems he's been granted quite the opportunity. 

Thranduil rises from his throne with liquid grace before gazing down imperiously. "I see you do not only travel with dwarves. Who else is among your company?" 

Thorin's minute fidgeting does not go unnoticed. "That is none of your concern." 

Ah, these dwarves are so predictable. Do they not realize how unseemly their jealousy and covetous nature is? Thorin is as defensive of the halfling as he is of Erebor's treasure mound. "That is not for you to decide," he answers smoothly, barely restraining the urge to roll his eyes. “Step forward, Halfling.”

The silence that persists in the room is almost stifling. Finally, the smallest among the company shifts forwards. 

*

Bilbo clears his throat. After standing up to orcs and trolls, he should not be the least bit intimidated by the Elvenking. Still, his voice betrays him, coming out reedy and tremulous. “A-actually, my name is Bilbo. Sir,” he adds belatedly. 

“Bilbo,” echoes the Elvenking. 

_Thranduil is his name_ , Bilbo reminds himself. The elf's voice transforms the two syllables of his name into a purr. He wonders if he’s being mocked. 

“Tell me, Bilbo, why is it that you travel with these dwarves?” Thranduil’s tenor is deeper, almost rumbling, completely at odds with his earlier lilting inflection. 

“He signed a contract,” Thorin interrupts. His brows are drawn tight and his lips are hooked in a scowl that Bilbo's glad to not be on the receiving end for once.

“In that case, perhaps after you've fulfilled your contract, you'd like to return here.” 

Bilbo gapes stupidly. He wonders if his ears are playing tricks on him. He's not sure what he's done to garner the Elvenking's attention, and though they'd never dare speak up, he can tell the other elves are wondering the same. His eyes flicker uncertainly to Thorin. He isn't the only one watching him. The Elvenking's eyes have latched onto Thorin, and there's something distinctly gloating on his face. Bilbo has a niggling suspicion that Thranduil’s words might not have been truly intended for him .

“Er - thank you for the offer, but -”

“I will personally ensure he receives the full extent of Elvish hospitality,” Thranduil continues, never lifting his eyes from Thorin's face. His voice is layered in innuendo, thick with double-meanings that Bilbo can’t quite parse. “We can be _quite_ accommodating.”

_"Imrid amrâd ursul!"_ Thorin bellows out an angry diatribe of Khuzdul. 

Bilbo flinches, his jaw unhinging in shock. “T-Thorin!” He can’t think of anything to say that will reign in Thorin’s temper. He’s shocked to see the other members of the company responding in kind. Dwalin looks absolutely furious, and even level-headed Balin is trembling with barely suppressed anger.

“My, you dwarves are so easily offended. Do you really think the Halfling desires such brutishness? A more refined, gentle handling would likely satisfy him.”

Bilbo clearly isn't privy to whatever the Elvenking is speaking of. Still, he's not so clueless that he doesn't miss the unsettling nature of the elf's gaze. To say it unnerves him would be a gross understatement. 

Thorin takes a deliberate step forward. 

“Calm down, laddie,” Balin chides, but his admonishment doesn't seem to stick.

Thranduil's hips sway sinuously as he approaches, his footsteps light and soundless where Thorin's are careless stomps. The two stop until there's only a scant few inches between them. Thranduil tilts his head, his hair spilling down his robes in a pale waterfall. 

"You have no right to him," Thorin seethes.

"Yeah," Kili chimes in, despite the others' attempts to hush him. "He's our burglar!" 

Bilbo can't help feeling touched by their concern, albeit a bit confused by the entire situation. Part of him wonders if he's having his leg pulled; that the elves and dwarves have combined their efforts in order to play some sort of elaborate prank. 

"Maybe you are not the only one who desires his services." Thranduil centers his gaze on Bilbo once more. His eyes are full of heat, but Bilbo doesn't think it's genuine desire igniting there. His whole persona reeks of artificiality. "Step forward, Bilbo."

Really, what choice does he have other than to obey the order? They're surrounded by a colonnade of Elf warriors, all brandishing sharp-edged weapons that he'd really prefer not to be acquainted with. Bilbo stumbles forwards, sticking as close to Thorin's side as possible without actually touching him. Thranduil smiles. He moves slowly; a predator wary of startling its prey. His arm extends, brushing the side of Bilbo's face. He scrunches his eyes shut. The touch may be gentle now, but it could just as easily turn violent. For all he knows, Thranduil may intend to tear the flesh from his face. 

Long, delicate fingers slide into Bilbo’s hair, combing from his forehead and backwards over his scalp. Bilbo's eyes fly open. He's not sure what he expected from the Elvenking, but it certainly wasn't this! Touching someone’s hair without their permission is, well, it isn't done! It's rude and presumptuous. It infringes on some unspoken rule of propriety, of that he is certain. 

Still, as Thranduil's soft, uncalloused fingers sift through his tangled curls, Bilbo can’t fully repress a shiver. He’s always had a sensitive scalp. And there's something innately soothing about having his head cradled and his hair played with. Thranduil's manicured fingernails scrape lightly against his skin, and gooseflesh ripples across his body. His entire scalp tingles from Thranduil's ministrations. It's all he can do not to lean into the insistent touch like an overzealous cat. 

He almost forgets about the others watching them, lost to the soothing comfort of hands carding and raking through hair. When Thranduil’s finger glances the tip of his pointed ear, he quickly sobers. Flushing a brilliant crimson, Bilbo shies away from the touch. 

His reaction does not go amiss by either Thranduil or Thorin. The Elvenking traces his ear much more deliberately, emboldened by his reactions. Oh. This is not good. Where Thranduil's touches were merely soothing, they're now eliciting a steady thrum of arousal. Heat gathers low in Bilbo's gut, pooling like sun-warmed honey. He's starting to get hard, and in the middle of an Elven court from having his ears stroked, no less!

Bilbo protests with a squeak. “E-excuse me!” He can scarcely believe this happening. He hopes none of the others have caught on to how affected he is by this, but the blotchy, red state of his face likely gives him away. 

“Ah, apologies.” Thranduil’s hand lingers a moment longer. It should not feel so intimate, having his ear stroked by another's hand. “You’re much more sensitive than I anticipated.”

Anticipated? Just what is that supposed to mean? "Er, your highness, I'm not really sure..." Bilbo's voice peters out. 

“You're such a soft creature. It's no wonder the dwarves are so keen on your company." 

Thorin's patience snaps. Though his movement is restricted by the chains binding his wrists, he still manages to seize Bilbo's arm and yank him back. "Don't you dare lay another finger on him, you filthy dirt worshiper!" 

Bilbo opens his mouth to assure him that he's fine, and that his concern is unnecessary, but he's not granted the chance. 

Thranduil tips his head back, his bell-shimmer laugh echoing through the room. "Tell me, Thorin, son of Thrain, do you truly expect to be a dignified ruler when your own mind is ruled by greed and pride and _lust_?" 

Bilbo does not like the look on Thranduil's face, not one bit. 

"I tire of this," Thranduil announces after a lengthy few minutes of silent gloating. He gestures to his guards. "Escort the dwarves to the cells. Perhaps later they'll be more agreeable." 

One of the Elven guards steps forwards. "And the halfling?"

"I'm certain we can entertain him better here." 

Bilbo gulps. His head is nearly spinning with confusion, but he's certain of one thing: as soon as he's granted a moment's privacy, he's slipping on the ring and getting out of this mess. 

* 

Thorin's heart pounds like an angry war drum. In any other instance he might feel mortified by his actions, and how swiftly he lost his temper, but his mind is too clouded for that now. That damned elf was more discerning than he'd expected. That, or he was too obvious in his regards for Master Baggins. The memory of that accursed elf fondling Bilbo makes his chest constrict. It was an invasion of personal space, and he's learned from their time traveling together that Hobbits were not nearly as tactile as dwarves. 

Being groped by an elf was definitely not in their contract, but he wonders if Bilbo was even opposed. Had he enjoyed being the focus of the elf's attention? Did he crave the touch of those long, thin fingers? Did Thranduil's slimy gaze move his heart and make his body sing? 

Thorin curses, tempted to bash his head against the walls of his cell, wondering if the impact against his skull will jostle and dislodge the destructive thoughts plaguing his mind. He can't remember the last time he was this angry. Well, no, actually he can, but only because he reflects on the past more than is healthy. He is, however, quite confident that an all-consuming fury such as this is not one he's felt in years, maybe not since his people were first turned away by the Woodland Elves. 

He wishes he could get his hands around that damned elf's neck. Or at least break his fingers in payment for touching that which did not belong to him. 

_He does not belong to you either,_ a voice in his head reminds. It is true. He has no claim over Master Baggins. Just because his heart has been claimed by the hobbit, does not mean his feelings are reciprocated. He would never force his touch and affections where they are not welcome, but it doesn't keep his heart from aching with longing. 

The jangling of keys interrupts Thorin's maudlin ramblings. Seemingly out of thin air, Bilbo appears before his cell, holding a finger to his lips. 

"Bilbo," he breathes. 

"Quiet now, and I'll have you out." 

Bilbo makes quick work of the lock. The door opens with a groan. "How did you manage that?" Thorin wonders, nodding at the ring of keys clutched in Bilbo's grasp. He'll never not be amazed by hobbits and their resourcefulness. 

Bilbo puffs out his chest. "I was hired to be your burglar, or have you forgotten? Now, hurry. The others are already freed, and I don't think the elves will be oblivious for much longer."

Together they join the rest of their party. After yet another stroke of genius from their burglar, they abscond down the river in empty wine barrels. Their escape is not without a few hiccups, of course, but it provides ample distraction from Thorin's festering thoughts. For a time, at least. 

"Is Thorin alright?" he hears Bilbo whisper some time later. He's still unpleasantly damp from traveling down the river, and his wrists are sore from being shackled. The fatigue and pain in his wrists has not done wonders for his mood, and it doesn't help that every time he closes his eyes, the same sickening image flashes across it. 

"Oh, he's probably just constipated," Kili comments. Thorin makes a note to write his younger nephew out of his will. 

"You should talk to him," Balin says sagely. 

Do they all think him deaf? They're not even trying to lower their voices. Thorin's scowl deepens. 

"Thorin?" Bilbo calls, running to match his angry stride. "Are you alright?" 

"Fine," he bites out. 

"Look me in the eye and say that convincingly." 

Thorin huffs. He can't bring himself to look at Bilbo. All he can see when he does is the image of Thranduil caressing him, stroking his face and ears the way a lover would. 

"Thorin, you're forgetting that I'm not one of your subjects, and you don't have the right to ignore me! S-so we're going to discuss this now like a pair of responsible adults." 

"Adults?" Thorin echoes. "Are you not only a mere age of fifty?" 

"Fifty is a respectable age among hobbits, thank you very much!" Bilbo darts in front of him, before firmly planting his endearingly large feet. "I'm glad to hear you speak, because now I know your silence isn't because you've lost your voice. Now, you're going to tell me what's wrong, and I don't want any excuses." 

The rest of their company forges on ahead. "We'll give yeh a bit o' privacy," Dwalin announces. Traitor. 

"Tell me what's wrong," Bilbo prods, and anger and jealousy simmers to life once more in Thorin's stomach. 

He levels him an accusing glare. “You would pretend to be blind to the lust he held for you?”

Bilbo blinks. "T-the what?" Realization slowly dawns on his face. "Oh. Oh, Thorin,” Bilbo lays a placating hand on his arm, but it only incenses him further.

“He would have laid you down on the floor and taken you for everyone to see.”

Bilbo shudders.

“It excites you, does it? For all your talk of propriety, that’s what you desired?” Thorin needs to know. His jealousy is all-consuming, and he feels sick with it. He's never had a weak stomach, but it threatens to betray him now, to expel all the putrid feelings churning in his gut.

Bilbo balks. “No!”

“Do not lie to me!” Thorin bellows, and he recoils from the volume of his voice as much as Bilbo does.

“I’m not! I don’t want that!”

He stalks towards him. “His affections? They did not please you?”

Bilbo's eyes are wide. “O-of course not! I don't care for the Elvenking's affections!”

“Why not?” he demands, his voice coarse and abrasive. 

“Because I'm in love with you!” Bilbo shouts. It sounds more like an insult or an angry retort than a proper confession. After several beats of silence, Bilbo fidgets uncertainly. "You big idiot," he adds. 

The concoction of rage and nausea drains from Thorin's body. His eyebrows knit into a look of wary suspicion. “Truly?” he breathes. All at once, his jealousy dissipates, overridden by a sobering shame. 

“Oh, Thorin,” Bilbo murmurs. “How could I not?”

His tongue fails him. He fumbles for an apology, but only manages to piece together a flimsy sentence. "My reaction was inappropriate." In truth, be behaved more like an orc than a dwarf, and he's not proud of it. If the other members of their company had been present, they'd probably have taken turns slapping him upside the head, kingly respect be damned. 

"Why _did_ you react like that?" Bilbo questions. There's no judgment in his gaze, only innocent curiosity. 

He hesitates. "I suppose I may have felt inadequate in the presence of the..." his face twists. 

"The Elvenking?" 

"I was going to say the tree-humper, but yes." 

Bilbo laughs. The sound is so bright and joyous and buoyant, that merely hearing it suffuses Thorin's chest with warmth. 

"You don't have to feel inadequate, you know," Bilbo assures him. 

"I know that," he huffs. "I simply couldn't help feeling..." 

"Jealous?" Bilbo supplies. 

Thorin grunts. 

"Oh, Thorin," he laughs again. That sound is so pure, he doesn't think his own vocal cords are even capable of replicating it. "You have absolutely no reason to feel jealous." 

"Don't I?" He raises an eyebrow. Bilbo leans into him, and he automatically curves an arm around the Hobbit's waist. He hopes he's not being too forward, but touching him is almost instinctual. 

"Definitely not." His smile is lascivious. "Though I can't say I completely mind." 

For a moment, Thorin is dumbfounded. "You... you're incorrigible." 

"Mm," Bilbo agrees. He reaches blindly for Thorin's hand, maneuvering it into his hair. Thorin allows the hobbit to position his hand where he'd like. He's not entirely surprised when Bilbo guides his fingers to his sensitive ears. His throat tightens. Steeling himself, he strokes a cautious finger over the pointed tips. This time, Bilbo's not the only one who shivers with delight.

"He's right," Thorin mutters, his voice coming out gravel-rough. "You are sensitive here." 

Bilbo hums in agreement, tilting his head to allow Thorin better access. 

Thorin accepts the silent invitation and licks a hot stripe across the smooth shell of Bilbo's ear. The high gasp that falls from his lips sets a fire in Thorin's chest, one that burns away any remaining vestiges of hesitation. He traces the tapered point of Bilbo's ear, mapping out every inch of it with pious dedication. Finally, he leans back to blow warm air over the moistened flesh. Bilbo shudders in his arms. With a smirk, Thorin bridges the distance between them once more and sets to work on his other ear. He traps it between his teeth, scraping his teeth lightly over it before giving it a hard suck. Bilbo lets out a high-pitched whine that goes straight to Thorin's cock. _Oh, Mahal._ He was not at all prepared for how vocal the burglar is.

Thorin insinuates a thigh between Bilbo's trembling legs, and instantly meets the hard press of arousal. His lungs struggle to find air. All this from touching his ears. "How much pleasure could I bring you from this alone?" he wonders aloud. 

Bilbo pulls back in order to gaze up at him. His cheeks are ruddy, and his dark eyes have been almost entirely eclipsed by his pupils. He looks positively debauched, and in such a short amount of time, too. His lips stretch into a teasing grin. "Why don't you find out?"

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos are appreciated!


End file.
